


Worship

by wartransmission



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Cannibalism, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 13:17:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wartransmission/pseuds/wartransmission
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You love them when you kill them,” he says, careful and slow, tongue darting out to wet his dry lips. “You respect them when you do that. I know. You told me before.”</p><p>“You want me to kill you, Dave?” You ask.</p><p>[AU where Bro Strider and Dave Strider are serial killers and cannibals, all while being on the sadomasochistic side of brotherly love. Underage because Dave is under eighteen, but not going below fifteen.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worship

**Author's Note:**

> Put in both Bro/Dave and Dirk/Dave as the tags even though it's one and the same in this fic. Just to be sure. (This was all written in the span of 11pm to 1am without any help, just so you guys know. It explains a lot of things.)

Blades aren’t in the equation when you take Dave to bed.

 

For a moment, you think it’s because you like the variety. Add another hour to that contemplation and you think that it’s because Dave’s different (he’s cherished and he is _yours_ ) from all of your kills, different from anyone you would ever willingly take to bed.

 

When you do take him to bed, you realize that it’s a test. A test on your own patience because you _want_ to mark him, and a test of Dave’s own.

 

 

**

 

 

“ _Bro_ ,” he said. His red eyes were not hidden by dark lenses anymore, a sign of trust, and he batted pale eyelashes at you. You couldn’t tell if he did so intentionally, but you ignored it.

 

You kissed him. It was chaste, brief, and mocking the innocence of a first time.

 

He snarled in impatience at you, red eyes flashing under the dimmed lights as he tugged you down.

That wasn’t what he wanted, and you knew it.

 

 

**

 

 

“ _Bro,_ ” he said again. “ _Please._ ”

 

His forearm was bruised from a bite that was not yours, his body mottled with reds and blues from the struggle of taking down a man larger than him. It had been a realization for him, a novelty that he did not like. Not at all.

 

( _“I’m still not strong enough, Bro,”_ he had said. You did not have to say anything for him to know that you agreed.)

 

You touched him gently as an answer, fingers caressing his skin as you kissed his neck. A vulnerable spot which he bared further to you with his eyes shut, body quivering and tense underneath yours even with the show of submission. You never strayed from your rhythmic motions, making sure to keep him on the edge of release as flitting touches graced his heated skin.

 

He cried then, frustrated and unsatisfied, his uncut nails dragging red lines along your back as you fucked him.

 

 

**

 

 

“ _Bro!_ ” He begged, red eyes brimming with desperation as he kept you close. “ _Bro, please._ ”

 

You lowered yourself to your knees then, a sign of submission you would never show anyone else, your amber eyes looking straight into his red ones as you licked a wet trail along the shaft of his cock. He squirmed, his hands automatically tangling in your blond locks as he tugged you closer, wanting more. _Greedy little thing,_ you thought to yourself.

 

(“ _Greedy men are no better than animals,_ ” you had said as you served two platefuls of cooked lungs on the table. The liver had been bad meat, considering the man’s body type.)

 

“ _This isn’t what I me- nghh- meant. Bro!_ ” He cried again, choking back a moan as you took him in deeper, the muscles of your throat tight around the head of his cock.

 

He clawed at your arms when you fucked him after, bit on your shoulder just as soon as he came, his red eyes glaring at you as you watched him come down from his high.

 

_Greedy._

 

 

**

 

 

He breaks, eventually. Dave is just a child, after all.

 

 

**

 

 

“I want you to love me,” he says this time, face red with humiliation. He is impatient and weary, and he knows your game now. He knows how you dislike it when he minces the truth, hides it from your eyes when it’s already so clear. You hate it when he _hides_ from you.

 

You start to smile, but he shakes his head, apparently not done. “I want you to,” he trails off, hesitant, turning red eyes up to you with a flushed face still, “like you do with them.”

 

He takes your hand when you answer him with silence, his grip on you firm and sure as he takes out the newly sharpened knife from his bedside table and places it in your hand.

 

Your heart stutters in its beating, just for a moment.

 

“Say it again,” you murmur.

 

His eyes turn their gaze away and back as he fumbles with his words. “I want you to love me, like you- like you love them. Bro.”

 

“How do I love them?” You ask, gripping tightly onto the blade in your hands. Dave follows the movement raptly, your voice the only thing to snap him out of it.

 

“You love them when you kill them,” he says, careful and slow, tongue darting out to wet his dry lips. “You respect them when you do that. I know. You told me before.”

 

“You want me to kill you, Dave?” You ask.

 

He quivers underneath you. It’s not because of fear. “I want you to remember me, Bro. I want you to,” he falters, not having the words in his grasp.

 

You lean in and bite on the tip of his ear, your tongue rough on his skin as you taste him. He sucks in a breath, shuddering. “You want me to worship you, Dave.”

 

His voice is breathy, his red eyes taking their fill of you as he says, “Yes.”

 

The smile paints itself onto your face slowly, the curl of your lips almost a smirk as you press the knife down along his jutting collarbone. He moans. “You think you deserve my worship, when you’ve already forgotten your manners?”

 

He falters and stops in his squirming at your words, red eyes blinking open again as he looks at you.

 

“Please,” he whispers, scared that you will pull away, that you will tease him again.

 

(You don’t.)

 

“Good boy,” you say, inwardly delighting in the writhing he does underneath you as you slide the knife along his shoulder, drawing a line of bleeding red on his pale skin.

 

He knows that he is yours, and that’s all you want.


End file.
